The Hottie Next Door

Just watched a new Much Music TV show called Hotties Next Door. The premise for this show is that people from across Canada (men and women) apply to be considered and Much Music narrows it down to 10 women and 10 men, each who receive profiles in a countdown format. Female hottie number two is a girl from Regina, an arts education student, who is into the Gallery and requested that her segment be filmed in our hallowed halls. And I said yes.

After watching the show, I was simulataneously relieved and horrified. Happily, Regina hottie seemed pretty smart and the shots of the Gallery were ok and there was nothing put out of context. Unfortunately, many of the other hotties were not so classy. There was even a pole dancing bit. I felt kind of dirty by association.

Anyhow, so there’s our national coverage. Would have thought it would have come as a result of the fabulous Joe Fafard exhibition, but no, it is because we are the favorite local spot of a Regina hottie. You take ‘em where you can get ‘em, I guess.

For the Unforgivable Woman

Sean John, Puffy, Puff Daddy, whatever the eff his name, is forging ahead as a fashion maverick and has just launched his new fragrance for women. I have no idea what it smells like, but the title is atrocious. The new scent is called Unforgivable Woman, because, you know, that is just so hot. Other names he might have considered: Self-Loathing, Dirty Whore, Excommunicated…. Maybe he is confused and meant Unforgettable? Is that possible? Ok, and maybe more importantly, what is Puffy holding onto in front of the female model in the ad above? She can’t even bring herself to look at him. Her face says, “Jesus whatsyername! Just get it over with and quit touching me! And quick spraying me with your putrid scent.” Puff Daddy really needs to fire his PR people. Really.

In other news, Paris Hilton is going to Africa to save the children. Thank goodness.

I need to buy a fabulous dress for the Gallery’s Gala Art Auction and Swanky party this Saturday night. Unfortunately I live in a city with no good shopping. I went looking over the weekend and everything I tried on either made me look like a bridesmaid, like a 16 year old going to a prom or like a confused ballerina. Not good. The whole hunt for a swanky dress is not looking promising. It’s a masquerade theme, so at least I can hide behind an ornate mask.

X

Fall is a Funny Thing

 I have a love/hate relationship with fall. When it is perfect, fall is my favorite season. I love the colours, the chill behind the sunshine and lack of bugs (read: mosquitoes). I love the smell of decaying leaves, warm sweaters and the sudden desire to eat soups and stews instead of BBQ. In the midst of this love affair, fall makes me feel sad. There is something about it that reminds me of time moving forward too quickly, it makes me feel nostalgic and it is constantly reminding me that an endless, impossible Saskatchewan winter is only weeks away. It also makes me want to get on an airplace and take a trip.

Today, all I want to do is lay under a blanket and read. Maybe have a bath if I’m feeling ambitious. The sky is grey and everything is still and the leaves are impossibly yellow against it all. And I want to hide with my Elizabeth Kostova novel about vampires.

 Work has finally slowed down a tiny bit since the opening of the Joe Fafard exhibition at the end of September. In communications, in a non-profit, the word “slow” is misleading. I was talking to someone who works at the University of Regina about my job yesterday and was trying to explain that as a staff of about 20 full time people, we have exactly one person for each job — there is no fat, no duplication. Though it would be great to have a few extra hands, there is something quite nice about being the one person responsible for your area, a sense of satisfaction when things go well and the feeling of wanting to make sure they do. I don’t pretend to have figured out how to balance my life with my job, but for now, I really don’t mind that. Besides, I dig art, so there is a cross over between life and work. I am lucky enough to work in an industry that inspires me.

Yesterday I was yelled at by a blustery 50-something man. Usually being yelled at (because it happens so infrequently thank goodness) shocks and quiets me. I am always taken aback when people feel the right to communicate by raising their voice and it takes me back to being about five years old. But yesterday it completely enraged me in a way that was surprising and energizing at the same time. Me and this fellow were having a disagreement about the interpretation of a document and, having never met me before, I think he believed that I would accept what he was saying just because he said so. When I questioned his position as being unrepresentative of what was in the document in front of us, our conversation took a turn for the worse;

He: I KNOW THIS DOCUMENT BETTER THAN YOU EVER WILL.
Me: I’m sure you know the document, I am asking you to substantiate what you are saying by what is actually IN the document.
HE: MY WORD SHOULD BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! I’VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR YEARS! IF I SAY SO, YOU SHOULD TAKE MY WORD!
Me: Why are you taking this so personally? This is not personal. I am looking for you to substantiate what you are saying. As someone who contributes to [omit name] I have the right to ask these questions.
HE: THIS IS PERSONAL! I TAKE IT VERY PERSONALLY WHEN PEOPLE DON’T TAKE MY WORD ON THINGS!

Back and forth and back and forth. It went on for nearly two hours. At the end he told me he would send me substantiation via email on Monday. I will be waiting. The thing that really pissed me off about the whole thing is that he had absolutely no right to yell at me and only did it because I am a young woman and he is a big old man. I hate daddy syndrome and am expending way too much energy being annoyed at a person I will likely never share a conversation with again.

Forgetting the irritation of yesterday, I am happy to have lazy Saturday afternoons to lay under blankets and read. And Saturday nights to drink too much flavoured vodka with friends and go dancing. And late Sunday mornings for brunch. Life isn’t perfect, but it’s ok and more and more, I am fine with that.  

I am a very bad blogger

It’s true and I accept it wholeheartedly. If there was one of those goofy blogging awards for “Least Apt to Win Best Blogger” I would be a shoe in. Sigh. In my defence I have been working 60 hour weeks in preparation for the big opening weekend shindig for our Joe Fafard exhibition. I am tired, I feel midly run down but at the same time I feel somwhat exhilerated by the fact that I have about seven million balls in the air and so far I haven’t let any of them fall. Proud of this though I am, I do realize that it is more a feat of luck then talent, thought I am also not bashful enough to claim that it’s ALL luck.

The Joe Fafard opening reception is tomorrow night at 7:30 p.m. and tomorrow afternoon I plan on going out and finding a spiffy party dress to try and bash away the fatique and threatening sore throat. All night long I’ve been drinking boiled ginger water and chanting to myself “I must not get sick!” Today I held my press preview and it was a big success, despite the fact that there was an outbreak of avian flu just outside of town and many of the few media in this city were called away to cover more newsworthy events then the opening of an exhibition. So far we’ve received extensive coverage on French and English CBC Television and Radio, CTV, both local radio broadcasts, the Leader-Post and the Prairie Dog. The only no show today was Global Television but they did call and are hoping to set something up tomorrow.

 Joe has been a dream to work with – a truely lovely person and I am excited to celebrate with him (hopefully in a new dress) tomorrow night. Now, if only I can get Rick Mercer on the bus tour…

 Sleepy time. G’night dear neglected ones.

Weiners for Christ

First outing in Regina since returning home. Walking to Safeway past the Catholic paraphenalia store on 13th Avenue. Five earnest looking rosy cheeked 16ish girls in tiny little cut off denim shorts were working a BBQ with a big sign that said “Weiners for Christ! Help us attend world youth day in Australia!” Weiners for Christ? I wonder who came up with that genius marketing strategy? On the way home I was accosted by the King of Regina ranting, swearing, absolute mad craziness. Home sweet home.

On another note, here’s me at the Eiffle Tower:

Last Few Moments

I have only about a half an hour before I need to head out and try to make my way to Heathrow in the labrynthine London Tube. Although my flight doesn’t leave here until 3:15 p.m. and it is now only 9:30 a.m., it takes over an hour to get to the airport (this is assuming I don’t accidentally get on the wrong trains!) and I guess at Heathrow you need to be there about 3 hours early or they begin to auction off your seat to the highest bidder. I am sad about leaving but am also looking forward to getting on with it, washing my clothes (and drying them in a machine and not on a line!) and not living out of a bag. Though Jacks and Bruce have been wonderful, it also feels a bit of a burden to be terminally camped out on their living room floor.

I got back from my little Paris mini-break yesterday at dinner time. I am so in love with Paris that I feel a little bit breathless thinking about it. I don’t think I realized that it was possible to love a place in that kind of warm tingley way that is generally reserved for other people. I spent three days alone (Laurent if you’re reading this that cell number you sent me didn’t seem to be working properly, either that or I am just utterly dense and couldn’t make it work) and feel like I really conquered that lovely, lovely city. In three days (only one of which was a complete day because the others were travel days) I:

• Visited the Louvres, the Musee D’Orsay and the Pompidou Centre
• Climbed the Eiffle Tower (yes climbed!) and then took the lift to the top floor then came back again that night to watch it twinkle
• Explored Montmartre and climbed up to Sacre Coeur where I attended mass (for the first time in a million years) and lit a candle for my sick aunt
• Rode on the ferris wheel in the Luxembourg Gardens
• Walked the Chapes Elysee and all along the banks of the River Seine
• Ate the most amazing food I’ve ever eaten in my life and drank loads of lovely wine
• Mastered the Paris tube
• Ate gelato (why have I never eaten gelato before?!!) at every specialty stand in Paris and London
• Found my French again and realized that I am far more competent in the language then I’ve given myself credit for

It was a whirlwind and probably the most amazing three days of my life. I’ve been frightened of getting hopelessly lost in London but for some reason Paris just opened up to me and I rode the subway from morning until night. One night I even took three tubes to seek out a ridiculously hard to find Thai restaurant that was highly recommended in my guide book and after tromping through the pissing rain when I found it, ate the best Thai food of my life. Sigh. My hostel, though a tat ratty, was even ok. Located in Montmartre, I had a view of the roof tops out of the big windows that opened. At night I listened to the rain fall and in the morning I was woken up by church bells. Because I was alone, I have a zillion pictures of me holding the camera out in front of me, all to be uploaded when I am home.

As for the French, who have a reputation of being unfriendly to foreigners, I loved them. In Montmartre all the old men in the shops called me “poussin” (baby bird), “petite mademoiselle” (little miss) or “poupee” (doll). I don’t think it hurts that my name is quite French or that I could speak the language but there was this overall affectionate quality to people that made me feel as though everyone wanted to help me on my way. In the touristy places, the tourists were a bit pushy and it was sometimes frustrated to have to continually wade through throngs of people, but the French were very nice.

Last night after getting off the tube at 6 p.m., Jackie, Bruce and I went off to see a production of Little Shop of Horrors, which was such fun. I loved that movie when I was little and seeing it live did not disappoint. And I guess one really must take in at least one live theatrical  performance while visiting London. As we took the bus home at 10:30 p.m. I waved good bye to everything – to the Thames, the Eye, St. Paul’s Cathedral… God I am a sap.

So off I go. With the time change I will be home tonight at 9:30 p.m., which is really about eight hours later than that if I stick to European time. Special thanks to Jackie and Bruce for being so lovely to me and to everyone else I met here who carted me around and kept me from getting too lost. XOXOX

London has called. I have answered. And it turns out we get along just fine.

I love London. It is gigantic and intimidating and smells vaguely like manure (Jackie tells me this is actually just the smell of pollution given that agriculture isn’t a big industry in central London) but is it also exciting and fast and just teeming with people and places. Yesterday after not having slept for about 24 hours, Bruce kindly picked me up from Heathrow and we began our 1.5 hour treck to central London. First one train, then another and then a bus. Luckily they left me here for the afternoon to sleep because I felt drugged. I’ve never really experienced jet lag before and had assumed it just meant tired but it is really something else entirely. I felt confused and drugged and generally just a little bit topsy turvey. After about three hours of rest I was good though and off I headed to find Jackie, which required me to take a bus and find my way to Waterloo station. Anyone who knows me is aware how directionally challenged I am so it really was a feat that I managed to not get hit by a car but also to find Jackie with only limited confusion and fuss.

After finding her, we met Bruce and his friends for a pint and then headed to a football (soccer game). Every time I mentioned to my Canadian friends that I was going to a professional football match in the UK, the reaction has been one of horror and distress because of the riots they are so notorious for. Jackie was even a bit worried but Bruce convinced us that because it was an out of season ‘friendly’ game it would be fine, and it was. I can’t remember the names of both teams, but one was called Leyton Orient and the game was being played on their home court (turf, grounds, stadium…?). Lots of singing and cursing and lots of very jolly looking police officers in bright yellow vests. The police here don’t carry guns but just these little sticks that they knock people about with if they get out of line. And they wear flourescent yellow, which doesn’t seem like a good strategy really because they would be such an easy target to pick off.  They also don’t allow drinking at football matches because drinking + rowdy fans= death and destruction. It was strange being at a sporting event without beer.

Today Jackie and I took the train an hour out of London to a sea side town called Brighton. It was this lovely British version of what I imagine Coney Island would be like with a giant pier and rides and terrible food and those silly games that are nearly impossible to win. We ate fish and chips on the beach, went on the carousel, took stupid photos of one another and I even stuck my feet into the ocean. It was so relaxing and fun and reminded me of all the reasons I’ve missed Jackie so much since she moved over here. Now I need to go to sleep before I pass out but for tomorrow night, Bruce has gotten us tickets to go see Prince live in concert. He also played a show here last night and it is the talk of the town because apparently he was quite generous for the 80s music everyone grew up listening to. So after a day of shopping and gallery hopping I’ll be spending my night with Prince.
I would post pictures but it is late and I can’t find the USB port in this computer.

This is a Smile

This my dog Oakie ’smiling’ for the camera. He wants me to take him with me but unfortunately, my suitcase is full.

Packing

I am nearly packed for my trip, which is miraculous as I am notoriously last minute about details like packing. My preferred method is just to throw every piece of clothing I like into a bag and go. I’ve tried to be a little bit more strategic this time and have actually gone as far as to make a list of things I want to bring with me. This is real progress.

Paris in Flames

On Tuesday I am flying to London to visit my best friend. I haven’t seen her since November when she left Saskatchewan to move overseas and marry. I have to confess that I didn’t actually think she would get married but here she is eight months later and entwined in marital bliss. I am happy for her but sad for me because I am still here and she is all the way over there.

In the past year I have discovered that I love to travel. I’ve always liked being at home with my things around me but lately I just can’t wait to go, anywhere at all. A day trip to the beach thrills me. A trip to Europe positively takes my breath away. I doesn’t help that it has been ridiculously hot in Saskatchewan. In the past three weeks the temperature has ranged between 25 on the low end and 49 on the high end. I used to consider myself a summer girl but that was before experiencing 49C with no air conditioning in my home. -40 is so much easier to cope with. A sweater, a scarf, some tea and everything is set. In 122F weather nothing works. Even the gigantic coolers that keep my workplace bearable were failing all week and we were all sitting under fans, our cheeks pink, the banana on by Director’s desk sweating. London has been averaging a glorious 22C.

At 11 p.m. the thermostat in my house reads 89F. Here is what that looks like:

Though I haven’t yet begun to pack I have pulled out my blue suitcase and have printed off my flight itinerary. I have also started considering how many clothes I can cram in without exceeding the 50 pounds of weight I am allowed in my suitcase. I like my clothes. I like to take them with me.

Someone very thoughtful came by my boiling house yesterday to drop off some mixed CDs she created for my trip. One is called London and features songs by famous Brits or songs about London. From London is Calling by the Sex Pistols to My Funny Valentine by Julie London to London Bridges by Fergie and everything in-between. She also created a Paris soundtrack (I am going to Paris for a long weekend all by my lonesome). This gem of a CD features what I imagine to be a pretty good cross section of songs called Paris, some Edith Piaf and even a song by Paris Hilton. I am superstitious and so intend on putting both on my i-pod and will not listen to either until I have actually arrived in each city. I plan on walking through the streets of Paris listening to my Paris disc for the first time.